In a Facebook note, Adrian wrote about the 'ethnic' Westerners we keep sighting - the ones with matted, dirty uncombed hair, a highly random hodge-podge assortment of clothing that they might refer to as a 'cultural pastiche' (gag) and an overall coating of grime layered over their skin and possessions. We didn't see so many down south, but here in Delhi and in Dharamsala, they were out in packs, with their batik tank tops and dreadlocks. Perhaps they feel a sense of solidarity with the less fortunate Indians who live without proper sanitation facilities and want to show that they can fit in here. Dunno.
We were in Old Delhi a few days ago and arrived very early in the morning as many of the city's inhabitants where just stirring from their sidewalk beds. Our train arrived at 5:30 am and by 7 am we were on a cycle rickshaw going through some parts of the area we had missed last time. We stopped for some chai at a chai stall and as Adrian and our driver had some, I surreptitiously watched as a young man bathed nearby at a pump? A hose and bucket? I don't remember. But I do recall the morning sunshine and his zealous application of shampoo to his hair, a tiny packet sold for 1 rupee at various stalls in many neighborhoods where small packets are most accessible. He squeezed some out to use as soap and scrubbed his body and arms well, rinsing with a cup (like most Indians, washing is done with bucket and cup to conserve the water). Around him, people were stoking small coal fires for breakfast, but he was busy scrubbing his face, his ears, serious about his morning ablutions. It gave me pause as I considered this phenomenon that I knew about, having read so much about India - people here are very clean and take pride in being clean no matter what their circumstances. Soap and shampoo is available everywhere in one rupee packets. Water comes out of pumps and public taps. Everybody washes and everybody is clean, ready to face another dusty day in Delhi.
In fact, everyone in India is very clean, washing many times a day (as it is very dirty on the streets). People wear clean pressed clothing and are extremely conscious of their appearance, wanting to appear tidy and neat at all times. It is such chaos here on the streets, such dirt and noise and pollution, it is no wonder that people hold on to the only kind of cleanliness they can control, that of their own person. Except the hippie Westerners. Apparently, they weren't told.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Old Delhi
After spending two weeks in Kerala, a province that shares the southern tip of India with its neighbour Tamil Nadu, we returned to Delhi for the last leg of our trip which has taken us to Dharamsala in Himachal Pradesh, home to the Tibetan government in exile and residence of the Dalai Lama. We figured that our day in Delhi would just be about organizing our journey, picking up our tickets and killing some time. Our train departed from the Old Delhi railway station and our travel agent arranged to get us driven there. On parting, he advised us to spend some time going through Old Delhi on a cycle rickshaw, since our train was a night one at 10pm.
Oh boy. Little did we know that the few hours we spent in Old Delhi with a Nepalese rickshaw driver guide would be one of the highlights of our journey, on par with our houseboat experience in Kerala (I think Adrian wrote something about that). Adrian and I gravitate to urban environments. We like people watching and the hustle and bustle of daily mundane life - you know, stuff like winding our way through narrow lanes filled to bursting with wedding saris and fabrics, dripping with jewelry and heady with incense fumes. Normal everyday stuff like breathing in the scent of a hundred spices in the wholesale spice lane that was so choked with airborne spices that even the merchants were coughing and sneezing right along with us. I cannot even describe how tight these Old Delhi lanes are and how much human and motorized traffic winds its way through them - in both directions! And how many shops, wide open to the lanes with merchants often sitting on floor mattresses. Tiny woodworking shops with old-skool tools and men wearing dhotis to cope with the heat. And amidst it all a tiny girl lovingly polishing a motorbike (we almost got her on camera... almost).
Sometimes when we couldn't proceed on the rickshaw, we had to disembark and follow our guide on foot. Our first such foray (mind the um... shit) led us to a lovely old lane with a hidden Jain temple at its end, where we had to be careful to remove all leather items and wash our hands AFTER removing our leather shoes (I learned this the hard way as I touched my shoe as I took it off and was asked to wash my hands again). Our second venture on foot was through the spice wholesalers stalls and up the stairs to a rooftop where a group of boys were on a break from working as fry cooks for candy factory workers. We looked over the choked chaotic streets of Old Delhi and took pictures with our new friends who wanted us to send them a copy of the photos ... but how?
We return to Delhi in 4 days and will explore more of Old Delhi hopefully getting the same guide, if we can find him. Words fail me and I am still trying to process all that I have seen in the space of a few hours. All India is teeming with life and Old Delhi epitomizes both the worst and best of this incredible country. I have read many accounts of Old Delhi and India in general invoking the misery and the squalor, but all I see is Life in all its facets, all its moods, a cacophony of sights, sounds and smells that reminds us of that which is most basic - the sharing of space with others who have equal claim on it. It is the full symphony of life, with its major and minor chords where sorrow breaks daily bread with joy.
Oh boy. Little did we know that the few hours we spent in Old Delhi with a Nepalese rickshaw driver guide would be one of the highlights of our journey, on par with our houseboat experience in Kerala (I think Adrian wrote something about that). Adrian and I gravitate to urban environments. We like people watching and the hustle and bustle of daily mundane life - you know, stuff like winding our way through narrow lanes filled to bursting with wedding saris and fabrics, dripping with jewelry and heady with incense fumes. Normal everyday stuff like breathing in the scent of a hundred spices in the wholesale spice lane that was so choked with airborne spices that even the merchants were coughing and sneezing right along with us. I cannot even describe how tight these Old Delhi lanes are and how much human and motorized traffic winds its way through them - in both directions! And how many shops, wide open to the lanes with merchants often sitting on floor mattresses. Tiny woodworking shops with old-skool tools and men wearing dhotis to cope with the heat. And amidst it all a tiny girl lovingly polishing a motorbike (we almost got her on camera... almost).
Sometimes when we couldn't proceed on the rickshaw, we had to disembark and follow our guide on foot. Our first such foray (mind the um... shit) led us to a lovely old lane with a hidden Jain temple at its end, where we had to be careful to remove all leather items and wash our hands AFTER removing our leather shoes (I learned this the hard way as I touched my shoe as I took it off and was asked to wash my hands again). Our second venture on foot was through the spice wholesalers stalls and up the stairs to a rooftop where a group of boys were on a break from working as fry cooks for candy factory workers. We looked over the choked chaotic streets of Old Delhi and took pictures with our new friends who wanted us to send them a copy of the photos ... but how?
We return to Delhi in 4 days and will explore more of Old Delhi hopefully getting the same guide, if we can find him. Words fail me and I am still trying to process all that I have seen in the space of a few hours. All India is teeming with life and Old Delhi epitomizes both the worst and best of this incredible country. I have read many accounts of Old Delhi and India in general invoking the misery and the squalor, but all I see is Life in all its facets, all its moods, a cacophony of sights, sounds and smells that reminds us of that which is most basic - the sharing of space with others who have equal claim on it. It is the full symphony of life, with its major and minor chords where sorrow breaks daily bread with joy.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Going native
Even before coming to India, I knew that I would want to wear Indian dress while travelling. I thought that it would be a mark of respect for the Indian culture and its people, that it would be good for the heat and because several travel sources recommended this for women travelling as it discourages excessive staring and potential "Eve teasing" (basically, harrassment) by locals. In addition to this, the women's clothing is beautiful, with goregeous fabrics and patterns.
Because wearing a sari is just too complicated for a novice and especially a travelling novice, I settled on a Salwaar Kameez, also called a Punjabi suit, which involves a 3/4 length tunic, loose pants and a shawl very useful for covering ones nose from diesel fumes and wiping hands dry after meals (we eat with our hands! Well, hand, right one). I have pictures on the camera but I mostly look a bit ass, as Indian women usuallly get SKs made to measure and off the rack ones tailored. My tailoring experiences have been ... less than stellar, and I have decided to cut my losses and just wear what I have so far, even if it is too loose. Clearly, unless I work with an English-speaking tailor, I will never get anywhere. Adrian is getting some suits made to measure, and the men's tailors here are awesome, with a long tradition of tailoring Western style clothing, so at least one of us is making out ok on that front.
In spite of this, I have really enjoyed wearing SKs. When I first arrived, they were my security blanket, I felt that I did not stand out as much, and that the gerenal message that I was presenting to India was "I come in peace". In Delhi there were plenty of tourists and Indian national in Western clothing, but as we moved away from cities and tourists, traditional garb dominated. Even in Delhi, I would say that only 5% of the women were wearing Western clothing in the areas that we visited (probably in wealthier areas this might be higher).
I don't have one quite so nice, but this is a Salwar Kameez as worn by many women in India.
As well as making me feel less conspicuous (nice try) the SKs also opened up avenues for interacting with other women, who were more likely to smile and waggle their heads at me when they saw what I was wearing. It seems to bridge the gap.
And speakin of the gap, my favourite store is definitely Fab India which is like an Indian Gap (no offense to Fab India). You can check it out at http://www.fabindia.com/ . There are of course plenty of other places to shop, but the self-serve mix and match ethos of this chain is a more familiar fashion experience for me. I also bought a kurti (kameez, the top part) at an emporium, which is basically a shop designed to rip off tourists, but I just walked out when I was told the price and the shop owner ran after me shouting "what do you want to pay?" and we finally settled on a fair price. This part of shopping in India is exhausting, always having to haggle and I won't miss it. It is as though every single thing is a small battle and it leaves you weary after a while, even though initially it might give you a charge. Adrian is surprisingly good at haggling, so I let him do most of it. We do a lot of walking away, at least he does.
Because wearing a sari is just too complicated for a novice and especially a travelling novice, I settled on a Salwaar Kameez, also called a Punjabi suit, which involves a 3/4 length tunic, loose pants and a shawl very useful for covering ones nose from diesel fumes and wiping hands dry after meals (we eat with our hands! Well, hand, right one). I have pictures on the camera but I mostly look a bit ass, as Indian women usuallly get SKs made to measure and off the rack ones tailored. My tailoring experiences have been ... less than stellar, and I have decided to cut my losses and just wear what I have so far, even if it is too loose. Clearly, unless I work with an English-speaking tailor, I will never get anywhere. Adrian is getting some suits made to measure, and the men's tailors here are awesome, with a long tradition of tailoring Western style clothing, so at least one of us is making out ok on that front.
In spite of this, I have really enjoyed wearing SKs. When I first arrived, they were my security blanket, I felt that I did not stand out as much, and that the gerenal message that I was presenting to India was "I come in peace". In Delhi there were plenty of tourists and Indian national in Western clothing, but as we moved away from cities and tourists, traditional garb dominated. Even in Delhi, I would say that only 5% of the women were wearing Western clothing in the areas that we visited (probably in wealthier areas this might be higher).
I don't have one quite so nice, but this is a Salwar Kameez as worn by many women in India.
As well as making me feel less conspicuous (nice try) the SKs also opened up avenues for interacting with other women, who were more likely to smile and waggle their heads at me when they saw what I was wearing. It seems to bridge the gap.
And speakin of the gap, my favourite store is definitely Fab India which is like an Indian Gap (no offense to Fab India). You can check it out at http://www.fabindia.com/ . There are of course plenty of other places to shop, but the self-serve mix and match ethos of this chain is a more familiar fashion experience for me. I also bought a kurti (kameez, the top part) at an emporium, which is basically a shop designed to rip off tourists, but I just walked out when I was told the price and the shop owner ran after me shouting "what do you want to pay?" and we finally settled on a fair price. This part of shopping in India is exhausting, always having to haggle and I won't miss it. It is as though every single thing is a small battle and it leaves you weary after a while, even though initially it might give you a charge. Adrian is surprisingly good at haggling, so I let him do most of it. We do a lot of walking away, at least he does.
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